The Name Game
by Electric Risk
Summary: A rose is a rose is a rose, but was Betelgeuse always a Betelgeuse? What began as a simple deal to get Lydia home safe might just result in the end of them both... Unless they can track down the truth before it's too late. Movie-verse; set 7 years later.
1. Incognito

**::AN::** **Chapter Edit: 9-09-11 (yeah, seriously.)** Well, I'm editing this. Don't know what possessed me (a ghost maybe?) to take this up after more than four years... but here I am! Further edits for later chapters will probably be forth-coming. New chapters are... debatable. Fun fact: whereas I was eighteen before, I am now the same age I made Lydia (twenty-three).

Only I don't do dangerous under-cover work in dark alleys. I'm a retail associate, putting my English degree to good use.

**For any new people who happen to stumble upon this fic:  
**Basically, it's mostly movie-verse with some cartoon elements sprinkled in (fits in movie canon, but characteristics and mannerisms (and occasionally wardrobe choices) might be lifted from the cartoon). If I ever get around to finishing it, you can expect a paced out, slowly evolving relationship to bud between Betel and Lydia. And yes, I spell the name "Betelgeuse" because that's how it really is spelled. He's named after a star, not liquified insects.

**As far as plot is concerned:** A rose is a rose is a rose, but was Betelgeuse always a 'Betelgeuse'? What started as a simple deal to get Lydia home safe might just result in the end of them both... Unless, of course, they can track down the truth before it's too late.

Let the games begin.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Poor college graduate here. All I claim to own is a very firm mattress and a crooked jewelry armoire from Target. (Read: Not Beetlejuice)

* * *

**Title**: The Name Game

**Chapter** **One**: Incognito

* * *

'Deep breath.'

Lydia Deetz desperately tried to calm herself down. Her hands were clenched, and she was afraid that was fast becoming a permanent condition. She needed to relax, she needed to get a grip, she needed to… running away and hiding under the covers actually seemed like an excellent idea at this point.

But she'd prepared for this for too long, and there was far too much riding on her success. While she couldn't claim to know what she was doing, she knew that she was well past the point of no return. 'Ah well, as they say… it's show time.'

Having accepted her lot, she double checked her ridiculous costume. The silky strapless purple dress, if it deserved such a generous title, only reached about mid-thigh and the bust was low and tight, giving her petite breasts a more va-va-voom quality. It hugged her hips in a way that made them seem more voluptuous, more enticing. She wore outrageously tall platform black patent heels and black fishnets. She pulled a small compact out of her black sequin clutch and double checked her make up, and her itchy platinum blond wig. Her highlighted cheekbones and bronzed skin almost glowed despite the poor light. Her lips were painted a pouty red and her eyes, for once, were made bright as she had forgone her typical thick eyeliner. She tugged on the edges of the fake hair to make sure everything was on straight (and to rub it against her irritated scalp for a brief sensation of relief). Her nervous eyes stared back from the compact mirror. She schooled her features into a haughty frown, and looked like a complete stranger.

Perfect.

Lydia abandoned her shadowy haven and stepped into the flickering orange light of the street lamp at the mouth of the alleyway. She leaned purposefully against the worn brick wall of a condemned building. She looked like a cross between a celebutaunt and a hooker, and was very, very aware of the fact. For her own piece of mind, she felt in her clutch for her bottle of mace. It was Pepto-Bismol pink and had been a gift from Delia when she'd first decided to move to the city. The last gift she'd ever accepted from the woman. Despite its origins, the feel of the cool metal container was a comfort.

With a deep sigh, Lydia Deetz thrust out her pushed up, padded chest and waited. And waited. And began to seriously regret the height of her heels as they were murder on her arches.

"You're late," she said, her voice low and slow when a figure loomed in front of her.

There was no mistaking that _he_ was the one she waited for. She could smell the expensive Gucci cologne from where she stood, some feet away, and then he possessed a sort of aura - his presence made her feel confined and trapped. And she could say with some certainty she felt confined and trapped at that moment.

He took another step forward and the dim orange light fell across his face. He gave her a rakish smile, but it came off more as a lewd snarl. His teeth, straight and perfect, glinted in the light. It all made him seem very... predatory. "You know how these things go," he murmured, his gaze slowly traveling over her body. He casually reached over and stroked her cheek, as though he'd done it a thousand times before, as though he owned it.

"Come now," Lydia said in a strained voice, struggling to maintain both her composure and her stomach, both of which were becoming exceedingly difficult. "We've got business to attend to. Save that for… later." She plucked his hand from her cheek and hoped to god she'd managed to do it coyly.

He chuckled.

The sinister sound made ice spike through Lydia's veins. A tiny itch in the back of her mind told her something was wrong, something about him was _wrong_. She didn't know why, but she was almost overcome with the urge to kick off her shoes and run far, far away.

Her suspicion was confirmed when, almost immediately after she'd completed her thought, he swiftly gripped her shoulders and pushed her against the wall, scrapping her bare back against it. She gasped, his lips grazed her ear. She felt his searing, scotch-tinged breath on her neck, wafting to her nose. His presence consumed her. She didn't even realize she had dropped her clutch, and only vaguely noticed that it, along with her pink mace, was on the ground by her feet. He brushed his hand roughly over her face and through her hair, knocking the wig to the ground and causing her black hair to tumble messily around her face.

"My, my… can it be little miss Lydia Deetz? The innocent little activist? Did you think that a little make up and a wig would hide you from me? Are you afraid, darling?" Cruel mockery dripped from his cat-like smile, his eyes flashed demonically. "You should be."

Lydia was not afraid. She was god-shockingly terrified. So terrified, in fact, she could barely move or even breathe. She plastered herself against the wall, wishing it would swallow her away. "H-h-how?" she stammered, tears springing to her eyes.

He trailed his finger from her ear, down her neck, and hooked his fingers in her dress, at the crevice of her breasts. It burned, and she could do nothing, except whimper pitifully. "Everyone can be bought, m'dear. A young man named Andre was more than happy to explain everything once we found the right price." He pouted condescendingly, "Oh, no; did you think that your little friends had integrity? How sad."

It occurred to her then, with a dream-like clarity, that she would not survive the night. She felt limp. The jig was up. He was going to keep her quiet, permanently.

"What are you going to do with me?" She asked, despite already having a very good idea. She was disappointed to find her voice so weak. Really, was death such a bad thing? Not at all... But then she realized, and with good reason too, that it wasn't the death she feared, but the _dying_. He was the kind of man who would go to great lengths to make it a long and painful process.

"Me? I think you're a bit confused." He nuzzled her neck and ran his thumb over her lips, while his knee pried her thighs apart. He crushed her against the wall. "I'm not even here." He laughed and pulled back. Abruptly, he turned and left her, and Lydia could breathe again.

But she knew he wasn't done with her, not by a long shot. And this was proven all too true when, almost immediately, two bulky silhouettes appeared at the mouth of the alley. The scent of cheap alcohol wafted from them in waves.

"Well looky here!" said the first, cracking his knuckles in an almost satirical display of 'power'. Had she the right state of mind for it, she would have noted the action as a severe sign of insecurity.

"Mayo' Van Durman's out done 'imself this time!" the second slurred.

"Got my vote!" the first agreed. His teeth, as he bared them at her in a jeering smile, were notably less clean and straight than his beloved mayor.

And two men descended upon her. Her slot in the obituary, she supposed, was probably already in print. She slid to the ground and distantly registered that her dress was ripped and the burly men left bruises where they grabbed at her. But, really, she was in another place, too shocked to fully comprehend what was happening to her, and yet so incredibly aware… There was nothing she could do, it was hopeless… No one would hear her if she called for help, and even if they did, they couldn't get to her in time. No one could help her; she was as good as _dead_.

…Dead?

Suddenly there was hope, and Lydia latched on to it. Her mind flew rapidly through a series of vague connections and she didn't even realize she had said anything until the men were yanked away from her. She watched dazed and immobile as they turned heel and ran for their lives. She noted their screams as they departed the same way Van Durman had gone. She turned her head and blinked at the floating specter and sighed. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seemed.

Because he was there, hunched over, resting his arms on his bent knees, staring at her.

Betelgeuse had a perplexed look on his face, as though he couldn't quite place who she was, but knew he knew her... _somehow_. It was funny because he didn't look quite like she remembered either, but if she was allowed to change in seven years time, she supposed he could too. His paunch was significantly reduced, for one thing, and his coat was new... or at least different. It was faded black and looked heavy and too big on him, and the rest of his ensemble was difficult to make out in the awful light. Despite the somewhat dusty quality of his coat, he looked cleaner - if a bit more gaunt and withdrawn in the face. The mold and decay were just gone, though he still looked very dead and withered despite it, his eyes sunk deep and his skin pulled taught. To Lydia, it made him look all together less frightening, not to say that anyone who wasn't Lydia Deetz wouldn't be terrified. The thugs were a definite testament to that (though she was sure it took a little more than his mere presence to produce those results).

"Long time no see," she tried to say, but could do no more than whisper. She winced. Apparently her lip got split open in the struggle; perhaps one of the thugs had been wearing a ring when he'd slapped her. Well, at least she_ thought_ there had been a blow to the face at some point.

The specter's eyebrows rose and his eyes widened in recognition. "Babes?"

Not her name, but it would do for the time being. Lydia nodded her head, and immediately regretted it as her vision swam and pressure pulsed beneath her skull. "Ow."

He straightened; a thoughtful hand stroked his chin. "Funny," he said, "I wouldn't of taken you for the type to, you know, walk the red light." He mimicked a walking motion with his middle and index fingers in the air.

"Because I'm not and I don't," Lydia spat, her voice finding some strength in outrage, which was a whole lot more manageable than gut-wrenching terror. She tried to stand, but her ankles felt weak and she could do no more than feebly lift herself to an awkward squat before giving up the endeavor entirely.

He arched a blond eyebrow. Clearly he didn't believe her. Given her current situation, she had a hard time blaming him. Her dress had done little to salvage her modesty_ before_ the thugs had gone and ripped it all up. She crossed her arms over the now-exposed top of her bra and glowered at him.

"I was trying to expose a dangerous man for what he was," she explained, "a skiving low-life who deserves to shovel shit for a living rather than run a city. But I was..." she paused, still having a difficult time processing this fact. "I was sold out." 'And left for dead' went without saying. "And then I called you."

"Huh," he said, crossing his arms. "That's mighty interesting, seeing as I recall us parting on pretty bad terms."

Lydia scowled. "Yeah, well I wasn't exactly in the best position for rational thought." In retrospect, she realized that seeing Betelgeuse was a bit of an adrenaline rush… that was now quickly waning. Her mind was becoming fuzzy. And to top it off, she was all alone in a dark alley with a poltergeist who might possibly hold a grudge against her. This was turning into one amazing night… These thoughts all overwhelmed her at once. "God damnit," she cursed as tears started welling up again.

"Hey now, Babes," Betelgeuse said, swooping down before her. He fidgeted as though having an internal debate as to whether or not he should comfort her, and whether or not a hand on the shoulder would just make things worse. He hesitantly held a hand over her arm and pulled it back. "Quit with the waterworks, will you? It's not like I'm gonna hurt you!"

Lydia blinked pitifully at him, "Why not?"

"What do you take me for?" he exclaimed, pulling away and gesturing wildly with his arms. "I may have a few looser morals than the average Joe, but even I got principles. If I want to get my kicks haunting someone, you can be sure as shit it ain't going to be no crying little girl in an alley." He pointed to himself with his thumbs. "I've got a reputation."

"So chivalry really isn't dead," she replied dryly. Still, the reassurance was appreciated, as were the amusing theatrics. "And I'm not a little girl. Do you know any little girls who dress like this?" She gestured to her pseudo-dress turned rag. "I'm twenty-three for Christ's sake! And if you aren't gonna hurt me, how about helping me home, safe and sound?"

Betelgeuse paused pensively for a moment, his mouth twitched in a way that Lydia didn't like at all. "Alright, but you're going to have to do something for me in return."

Having been on the receiving end of such deals before, Lydia was swift to clarify: "I'm not marrying you."

"So quick to judge, Babes!" He cried dramatically clamping a hand over his still heart. "I'm hurt!"

"I'm so sure." She rolled her eyes. And yet instead of telling him to take a hike, instead of shouting his name, three times rapid-fire, she decided to hear him out. Maybe it was the blow to the head. Maybe it was the shock of seeing him again, after so many years. Maybe, after everything that had happened, she just didn't want to be alone. But most likely, it was the complete and utter lack of faith she had in her ability to herself get home. ...Even still, Lydia couldn't help but think that bargaining with the poltergeist would end up being nothing but a redundant headache. "What are the terms, then?"

"Don't know," he smirked. "Just a formality to keep up appearances, you see. Can't have the Netherworld thinking I've gone soft. And besides, it's not like you're in any position to decline, are you?" He offered her a pale hand.

Well, he'd hit the nail on the head. Rather than admit this, she begrudgingly muttered, "Fine, I'll owe you a favor, but nothing that involves a life time of servitude towards you or anyone else, or the breaking of laws that I agree with. Also, -_just so we're clear_- I will not marry you." And with that, she took his hand.

Betelgeuse grinned as he pulled her to her feet in one sharp, but surprisingly painless tug. And he didn't let go. "Deal, Babes."

They shook on it.

* * *

**::AN::** Wow. Just saying, the difference between college freshman me and college graduate me is considerable. At least here. I'm quite proud of this first chapter now.

If only I could fall in love with everything else and dote on it with the same loving care...

You should probably review and tell me how awesome I am. Or if I have a grammar/ spelling error. I hate those, and I always seem to miss really stupid ones.

-ER-

(Back in the saddle again.)


	2. In Pain

**::AN:: _(Edit: 9/9/2011)_** And the editing extravaganza continues. So far in the last chapter, Betel's atrocious dialog has been tackled and Lydia's slut-dress has been... fixed. I don't know what I was thinking before. Elbow-length gloves? A cigarette filter? A veil? She was supposed to seduce him, not make him think he'd stumbled onto the set of a 1940's crime noir! (I realize it was probably inspired by an episode of the cartoon, but even still, there's a time and a place for such things...) Without further ado, here is the edited chapter two.

* * *

**Title: **The Name Game

**Chapter Two:** In Pain

* * *

Lydia almost forgot her discarded clutch, which wouldn't have been necessary except for that it contained the keys to her apartment. She struggled, bending down awkwardly to grab it, but Betelgeuse, with a snap of his fingers, called the small bag into his own hand.

"Fancy," he announced, before pulling the clasp open and riffling through the contents.

"That's mine!" Lydia barked, snatching the bag out of his hands.

"Was this yours too?" Betelgeuse asked, toeing the dirty, trampled wig on the ground.

Lydia flushed, having equal parts forgotten about it and having hoped that the poltergeist wouldn't notice it, or draw a connection. "Never seen the thing before in my life," she lied.

Betelgeuse looked amused and like he didn't believe a word of it. "Right. Sure."

"Let's just get out of here, okay?"

He sighed dramatically and held out his arm. "Your wish is my, eh, etcetera and so forth."

The trip home involved a detailed description of the address and location, which Betelgeuse used as a guide to transport them there. The transporting process was a fairly simple execution, involving Lydia hanging on to Betelgeuse to ensure her part in the trip, as well as to keep her standing upright. Phasing out of the alley was a tingling sensation, like thousands of tiny feathers dancing all over her skin, suddenly turning into needles a split second before they arrived in their new location. During the trip everything was blurry, as if they were moving extremely fast, yet it felt as though they weren't moving at all. After a couple misfires (resulting in a few very shell-shocked people), they finally made it. Lydia silently decided that next time, they'd take a taxi.

Next time? Lydia needed sleep, or maybe a lobotomy. Hell would freeze before there would be occasion for a "next time."

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing her glorified closet of a studio that the building manager listed as an "efficiency unit".

Betelgeuse looked around. No lights were on, but from what he could tell, it was basically one main room with a bathroom and a closet. Tucked in one corner was a painfully small kitchenette, with a dinky fridge and stove, and a small breakfast bar with two stools. The bulk of the room was taken up by a bed, a dresser and a small desk.

"Uh, nice place ya got here, Babes."

"Shut up," Lydia grumbled, flipping on a light switch. The studio-sized fridge and stove were an unpleasant shade of piss-yellow, the cheap laminate floors of the kitchen were pealing in places and the parquet in the rest of the apartment looked like it hadn't been refinished since at least the 1970's. "This city isn't exactly cheap," she explained, stepping with relish out of her shoes. She flung herself back on her beautiful full-sized bed, groaning in pain and relief as she sagged into the mattress.

"Err," Betelgeuse began tentatively, which immediately grabbed Lydia's attention. He was about as blunt as a baseball bat, usually. "I may not be an expert on the whole 'living' thing, but ain't bruising and bleeding like that, generally speaking, bad?"

Lydia lazily pulled her arm into her line of sight. Five dark marks marred her pale wrist: a perfectly formed hand print. Maybe he had a point? She pealed herself off the bed. "Look, I'm going into the bathroom to clean up. Please, _please_ stay out here._ Stay_. _Out. Here_." She grabbed a change of clothes from her tallboy dresser and rolled her eyes at the ghost's production of the Scout's Honor.

Though she dully noted the futility of it, she pushed in the little lock button on the bathroom door. Really all that served to do was render the old, tarnished brass handle incapable of twisting. One could still quite easily push their way in without much trouble, not that Betelgeuse would even need to use the door if he really wanted to get in there. But the action was comforting nonetheless.

In the mirror, she surveyed the damage. Her lip was split, she had a black eye, both of her wrists and her shoulders were badly bruised… not to mention her dress was completely unsalvageable, not to suggest she ever intended on wearing it again. She blushed as she fully witnessed just how much skin she'd been flashing around the perverse Betelgeuse; she'd inadvertently given him quite the show. Lydia hadn't realized just how far down the middle the dress hand torn, nor how high the skirt had ridden up her legs. As she stripped the dress away, she was somewhat surprised to discover a long, but thankfully shallow slash across her stomach. Ah, she remembered now… they'd pulled out the knife right before Betelgeuse made his grand entrance. She lightly poked it and to her complete lack of surprise, it hurt. At least she had the piece of mind knowing that her back was still mostly intact save for a series of souvenir scratches from the brick wall.

She stared at herself. Her makeup flaky and running down her face, from crying. Lydia didn't think she'd cried all that much, but then she figured it wasn't too surprising. Her black hair was plastered messily around her face and stuck to her neck. She felt grimy and, for some reason, used. She could still feel the ghost of Van Durman's hands where ever they'd trailed over her skin. She found herself retracing their path. Realizing fully that any open wounds would sting, for lack of a better phrase, like a mother fucker, Lydia decided that a shower was absolutely necessary.

Lydia set the water at a lukewarm temperature, but still hissed in pain once she found herself under the spray. At least, she conceded, the pain was more pleasant than Van Durman had been, and at least she was still capable of feeling it at all. She worked quickly and carefully to wash the sweat and grime from her body and the thick makeup from her face. She lingered in the water a few moments longer, and noticed it was running pink down the drain. She studied the cut on her stomach, which she decided must have been the culprit, and hoped it wasn't bad enough to require stitches.

After she toweled off and clipped her wet hair up, Lydia pulled a small first aid kit out from under the sink which held all the essentials: gauze, bandages, cotton balls, and, of course, rubbing alcohol. She cursed under her breath as the disinfectant stung her wounds, but she tried to be as quiet about it as possible. There was no need, after all, to give Betelgeuse an excuse to barge in on her while she was essentially naked to "check on her". At that thought, she stepped up the pace and worked quickly to take care of the small cuts and scraps, leaving her stomach for last. She dabbed it with alcohol gingerly, wincing all the while. At least though, she could tell it was starting to clot. She cut a long strip of gauze and tapped it down securely. Finally, she pulled on her pajamas: a soft, over sized t-shirt and sweats, which were both relics from her college days.

When she finally exited the bathroom, she found, to her mild surprise, that Betelgeuse was still there, sitting on her bed. Well, actually, he was hovering just slightly above her bed. He looked serious and pensive, which were both a bit disconcerting to see, and it was a moment more before he actually looked up and regarded her.

"Why didn't you call me earlier?" he asked in all seriousness.

Lydia was taken aback. Why the hell did he care? "Call you sooner, B? Hate to break it to you, but you were kind of a last resort." She yawned, shifting her weight from one foot to another as covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "I mean, I was in a life or death situation, and things were leaning more towards..." She swallowed thickly and averted her eyes. "Anyway, I barely even realized I'd called for you until you showed up. Let's face it, if I had been in my right mind, I'd have never done it."

"If you'd have been in your right mind, you'd be dead," he surmised grimly.

_Blunt as a baseball bat._

Lydia waved her hand dismissively. "My survival instincts leave much to be desired, I think, if you were the best they could come up with."

"Well that's a fine way to express your gratitude," Betelgeuse pouted. "'I may not be dead, but why did you have to be the one to save me?'" He mimicked Lydia's voice in an annoyingly accurate candor.

She huffed. "Look, I _am_ grateful and everything, but you must see where I'm coming from. Calling you to save my life was reaching a bit, was reaching a lot, actually. I mean, you have every reason to hold a grudge against me, and you almost killed my father. You are powerful, conniving, and have almost no morals to speak of, that I'd ever witnessed, at least. I'd call those a few very good reasons to avoid you at all costs!"

He looked befuddled for a moment and then replied, "That was an accident! Completely unintentional! Besides, I was only there because of those bumpkins in your attic! If anything you should blame them for it!"

"They didn't ever intend for you to hurt anyone!" Lydia yelled back.

"Well then maybe they should've been clearer!"

"Oh my god!" Lydia cried, dramatically side-stepping the ghost and collapsing on the bed, careful to land on her back. "I don't want to go into this with you right now. Every god damn inch of my body hurts! And you're the only reason I'm not worse off than I already am. So I just want to thank you and then sleep for three weeks." She yanked the banana clip out of her hair and tossed it aside.

Betelgeuse was oddly quiet. "So, you gonna send me back?"

Lydia blinked. "I didn't think of that. I mean, I should, shouldn't I? But then, you did save my life, so... Ugh, this moral dilemma is giving me a headache!" She moaned into her hands.

"Say, Babes," the poltergeist ventured casually. "You don't think those creeps'll track you down again, do you?" His glinting eyes removed any semblance of innocence from the question.

Still, he had a point. Her eyes widened. She hadn't even considered that. And since they had her name, they could easily find her apartment, find _her_, and then finish what they started. "Fuck."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then," he smirked, somewhat inappropriately, Lydia thought. "Worry not, Babes! I told you I'd get you home safe and sound, right? Well, far as I see it, you're home, but you ain't safe yet, so my job ain't done. We can just work out the kinks in the deal as we go! It's perfect!"

"You like putting me in these 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situations, don't you?" she asked, unmoving from the bed, an arm thrown over her eyes to block out the light.

"Hey!" he cried defensively, "You called me, if I recall, _both_ times. This is all you." He crossed his arms. "If you don't want my services, go ahead and send me back right now." He turned up his nose, but still kept one eye trained on her.

Lydia sighed. "Well, fine. Be my bodyguard." Then, listening to herself, she added, "I just know this is going to bite me in the ass later…"

She gasped upon suddenly finding Betelgeuse at her side, all notion of personal space gone right out the window.

He had that old perverted grin again. "If you want," he purred, "we could get the ass biting out of the way n-"

Lydia slapped him. Hard. "No!" She scolded him like he was a puppy who'd left a mess on the floor.

"Hey! What was that for!" Betelgeuse clutched his cheek and glared. "That anyway to treat your protector? You didn't even do so much to your would-be murderers!"

"They wanted me dead and they were both twice my size, with sharp things. It's called being paralyzed with fear." Lydia informed him humorlessly. She yawned again, and added, "Anyway, you told me earlier you wouldn't hurt me, and we made a _deal_. I know how you are about your damn deals. That little tap to the face was just to let you know you were… going too far." She closed her eyes and stretched her arms over her head, and then winced. However shallow, that cut on her stomach did not appreciate the movement.

"Little tap, my ass," Betelgeuse grumbled, now a respectable distance away.

"Baby." Lydia couldn't resist the jibe, however sleepy she sounded.

Instead of another retaliation, she heard a snap and instantaneously found herself under the covers and in complete darkness. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and she was sound asleep in moments.

* * *

Betelgeuse regarded his new ward, now that he could do so without risk to his person or his ears (she could be kind of shrill). She was a bit thin, frail looking even, and just as pale now as the last time he'd seen her. The only real contrast he could note between her former self and now, were the curves. At, well, however old she'd been before, there were none (none that he could see at any rate; he vaguely recalled a lot of shapeless outfits). Now, however, let's just say she hadn't been kidding when she'd told him she wasn't a little girl anymore.

He gave her another thorough once-over. Oh yeah; she sure grew up nice.

'Shame those flesh-bags had to go and mess her up like that, though,' he mused, observing her bruised face and scabbing lip. Those details aside, she looked so innocent while sleeping, her damp black hair stuck messily around her face and pillow. She looked downright childish. He wondered what exactly she'd done to get herself in that situation, why those men could possibly want... to kill her. She had mentioned something about it, but he really only remembered a line about shoveling shit; nothing else really stuck. The girl certainly was a glutton for punishment, whether it be from manipulative poltergeists or homicidal thugs in dark alleys.

It was funny, though, how quickly he'd reacted to the situation. Of course, it went without saying that the tougher looking the customer, the more pleasure Betelgeuse got from making them wet their pants. It wasn't often he got such opportunities handed to him... this extended time out, included. Still, he barely even took time to register what was going on before leaping into action like some big damn hero. He didn't even know who he was saving... But he had noticed her. He had seen the look of utter resignation on her face as she silently sat there and took the beating. That, apparently, was all the motivation he'd needed.

Betelgeuse tapped his chin thoughtfully. He was bound to serve her for an undisclosed period of time, and that meant he was out for an undisclosed period of time. The girl had agreed; it was a done deal. No one (not even Juno) could argue that. And as for her end of the bargain? Well, he had an idea… not only did it promise him an extended stay in the real world, but also, possibly, permanent release. Best of all, there would be no wedding necessary.

He would have made this proposition originally, the first time they'd met, but time had been short and there was too much to explain. Besides, back then there were too many people involved who could potentially talk her out of it. Not that the wedding idea actually made him any headway. Betelgeuse frowned at the memory. Having been in the revenge business on behalf of others for so many centuries, he rarely had any inclination towards it on his own behalf, but if he ever saw another sandworm, or that sandworm riding bitch again, he couldn't be held responsible for his actions.

He shuddered. Such things didn't bare thinking about.

After a while, Betelgeuse was jolted from his ruminations when the girl (what was her name?) began to thrash in her sleep. She moaned and clawed and whimpered and he didn't think it was very likely she was just having one of _those_ dreams. It wasn't lust; Betelgeuse knew all about lust, after all. And if there was only one thing in the world he could claim to be an expert on, it was the emotion etched in the girl's damaged face: pure and unadulterated fear.

...Did nightmares count against her safety?

* * *

_And I don't mind you coming here_  
_And talking in your sleep_  
_It doesn't matter where you've been, oh_  
_As long as it was deep.  
_

Sister Hazel- "Just What I Needed"

* * *

**::AN::** Done editing and this chapter is now almost a thousand words longer than before. It's almost like writing new material! (Maybe, if you squint and turn your computer screen sideways...)

I'm awaiting your glorious praise with baited breath.

_-ER- _


	3. In Distress

**::AN::** Party over here, woot-woot. **Edit: 9/16/2011**

**Title: **The Name Game

**Chapter Three: **In Distress

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A hand clamped down on Lydia's shoulder and she screamed. Her body reacted violently and she thrust out her arms in attempt to ward off her would-be attacker. But she couldn't break the grip. ...And the hand didn't feel right. It didn't make her skin burn and crawl. It didn't make her stomach turn. It was cool. It was gentle. Lydia began to calm down, her rapid, shallow breaths began to even out.

"_Babes_."

That rasp was familiar...

"_Hey_, Babes!"

Lydia's eyes jolted open. The hand was no dream, nor was the raspy voice that accompanied it. Her mind was still foggy with sleep and the sharp, vivid remnants of what had been a very... _unpleasant_ dream, so she thought nothing of clenching her eyes shut and latching on to the poltergeist in her bed. The images, either memories or the fiction of her subconscious she could no longer distinguish, played out on the insides of her eyelids. She squeezed harder around Betelgeuse's midsection, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Betelgeuse stiffened. "Uh.. _Babes_?" He tapped at her shoulder, trying vainly to snap her out of it.

"Lydia," she muttered into his cool skin.

"Wha-?"

"My name is Ly-di-a," she reiterated, careful to enunciate. "If you're going to stick around, you should start using it." She sighed and repositioned herself, practically climbing into Betelgeuse's lap in the process. He made her feel safe, and at that moment, that meant absolutely everything. He was her ghost in shining armor, after all. They'd made a deal. It was a shame he couldn't actually protect her in her dreams, though. -But then again, using him as an ex-human security blanket _was_ the next best thing.

She felt his chest expand and fall in a deep sigh, which she figured was more for show than anything. Ghosts didn't need to breathe, did they? Not like they were capable of suffocating... Then she felt one of his arms lazily fall across her shoulders, while the other snaked around to the small of her back. This time, she stiffened, but the hands remained in their platonic positions, nary a twitch to indicate any intention of wandering. It was strangely nice and it prompted all the pent up tension to melt from her body.

"You... you _do_ know you're holding on to _me_, right?" he asked, slightly bemused.

"So?" She retorted sleepily. "It's your job to keep me safe. And besides," she yawned widely, "you feel... nice."

Snuggling into him a little more, getting comfortable, Lydia promptly fell back asleep.

* * *

Betelgeuse could honestly say this was a first for him. Well, not the whole being in bed, practically spooning with a woman part - he'd been in that position before, plenty of times too, and with plenty of women. But this? _This_ was a whole new context with a whole new set of parameters. For instance, he was pretty sure that if the hand on the small of her back drifted any lower, he'd be back in the Netherworld faster than you could say "go fuck yourself". That would kind of defeated the purpose of those other... encounters. _This_ was new territory, and that was really disconcerting for a ghost who'd been lurking for over six-hundred years.

And that's without taking into account that this particular moment was essentially the antithesis of what he stood for! He was a bio-exorcist for crying out loud! Not a teddy bear! And yet, here he was with this girl... woman... _human_, and instead of her being terrified, disgusted, or at the very least repulsed, she was curled up against him like a cat. _Him_. A _poltergeist_. The self-proclaimed 'Ghost With the Most'. And to top it all off, she told him he _felt nice_. To be sure, she only admitted it because she was half-asleep, but she still said it, and he'd bet his boots she meant it too.

He grunted. While that was excellent fodder to torture her with later (which he fully intended to capitalize on), he'd come to the conclusion that this plan had better work because his reputation as a bio-exorcist was officially shot.

Betelgeuse expected her grip to loosen once she was out for the count. But it didn't. And for some reason, despite it being perfectly within his abilities to remove himself from her without waking her up, he didn't feel like it. Instead, he merely shifted a little, leaning against the wall and redistributing Lydia's weight a bit, and thought.

Of course, he did not think, not even a little, about how nice (he _never_ used the word "nice" either) it felt to have that warm body pressed against him, and he paid absolutely no attention to her breathing, and how each little puff fell hypnotically from her slightly parted lips. Nor did he feel a pulse of anger shoot through his limbs at the bastard who'd split that otherwise perfect lower lip. And even if those thoughts did cross his mind, which of course was not at all the case, whose business was it but his own?

But suddenly he found the room clouded with an angry aura and the heavy scent of cigarette smoke, an unfortunately familiar combination. Betelgeuse cursed under his breath. Of course Juno would arrive at this moment, while Lydia was still stuck on him like a leech (he conveniently ignored the fact that he'd had more than an hour to remove himself from her).

"Well, well, well," she crooned. The slit across her neck seemed to leer at Betelgeuse. Juno leaned on her left hip and rested her respective hand upon it. Her conservative gray pumps did not need to tap the floor to exude impatience and a sense of urgency. "If it isn't the one and only bane of my existence out and about and making my afterlife as difficult as possible." She took a long drag from her cigarette, then flicked ash from the tip which dissolved gracefully before hit hit the ground.

He was a bit surprise she hadn't commented on his... situation yet, though he had no doubt it would come up sooner than later. Still, Betelgeuse decided to hold his ground and stay right where he was, Lydia and all. He would not be turned into the kid with his hand caught inside the cookie jar; not this time. Besides, it was mostly her fault anyway. So, in attempt to disarm the moment, Betelgeuse sent her his most charming smile (which sat unnaturally on his features and came off technically more "creepy" than "charming"). "Feeling's mutual, Babe."

"Hmm." Her lip curled. "Looks like I'm doing my job, then. And while this is a_ thoroughly_ entertaining topic of conversation, I, unfortunately, am here on business."

"Big surprise," Betelgeuse muttered, vaguely wondering if all this chatter would wake the girl up.

Juno ignored him, taking another elegant drag. "It has come to my attention that you've made a bit of a deal with our Miss Lydia Deetz." She regarded the girl with a quick, appraising glance. Then her gaze met Betelgeuse's eyes, and informed him that she was well aware of his position and she was not, in the least, pleased by it.

He too, spared Lydia a glance, and then looked back to the wholly less appealing, older, and not to mention, dead, Juno. "What's it to you?" he asked.

Juno sighed and began methodically rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You have absolutely no idea what you've just gotten yourself into, you stupid, _stupid_ idiot." Her eyes flashed back to him, "Do you?"

"What?" he exclaimed. "All I know is, I've got free time in the real world while I'm protecting her and there's nothing you can do about it!" Betelgeuse, feeling rather in the mood to be petty and childish, still fought back the impulse to stick out his tongue at her... and turn it into a two-headed snake.

"I reiterate my point," she snapped. "You are a stupid_, stupid_ idiot. Lydia was supposed to _die_ tonight, did you know that?" She sighed again, rubbing her forehead. "All that paperwork… But that's _not_ why I am here. Truth be told, I'm _glad_ she didn't die- nice kid and all that. But back to the point, Lydia's enemy? The man you've _sworn_ to protect her from? He just happens to be obscenely powerful, evil, and above all, vengeful. You are familiar with a Mr. Vladimir Drake, I presume?"

Betelgeuse blanched at the mention of that particular name, which he hadn't heard uttered in at least a few centuries.

"Well it just so happens that, by some stroke of fate, a mister Van Durman was possessed by Drake, and remains so now. And so you see, you raging fool, it is not mere mortal Van Durman who wants Miss Deetz dead, but one of the most powerful entities the afterlife has ever known." Juno paused for a moment to let that little tid-bit sink in. "Thus, if Miss Deetz dies, you, my friend, get _exorcized_ for breaking your bargain. Did you know that? Exorcism is the latest restriction the Bosses have placed upon you thanks to your less that sparkling track record." She appraised Betelgeuse who seemed frozen in silence. "Do you see the dilemma you unwittingly wedged and forced yourself into?"

Betelgeuse's attention, however, had dropped sharply at the word "exorcized." He was now focused solely on another word: fuck. Because that was what he was; royally and indisputably _fucked_. And that was without the added threat of adopting Drake as his very own newest enemy. Of course, that said, Drake was _everybody's_ enemy…, which was why he had been sealed in that talisman five hundred years before… Eventually, Betelgeuse dragged himself out of his revery and looked helplessly at Juno. "How?"

She arched a grayed eyebrow. "Excellent question. And I do hope this means you are taking everything seriously. But it's like this; Van Durman used to be an acclaimed archeologist." She embellished this with a slight wave of the hand. Smoke trailed from her cigarette as her hand moved, making a winding, milky tendril in the air. "He found Vladimir's little necklace. Unbeknownst to us, _Vladdy_ managed to install an inscription onto it as he was sealed. Well, a curse, actually, because that's really all he's good for. -And Van Durman, being the diligent archeologist that he was, deciphered and read allowed the inscription, thus cursing himself to be possessed by Vladimir's spirit for a period of no less than one hundred years, or until death. Upon the body's death, Vladimir will just return to the Netherworld, where he will surely resume his old reign of terror from five hundred years ago."

"He's gone and concocted some half-baked scheme for world domination," she continued, exasperation and annoyance saturating her tone. "They _all _do. Doesn't help that he has full access to the real Van Durman's mind, memories and all that. I mean, he wouldn't stand a chance in the world today without that advantage. Pity, really. Of course, that doesn't change the fact that he is, essentially, a big, breathing bag of flesh. With the proper handling he can be adequately resealed, hopefully this time sans the curse inscriptions."

"I've got a feeling that you guys want me to do more than just protect Lyd- I mean, _her_," Betelgeuse surmised. Given the gravity of the situation, he finally found it necessary to extricate himself from Lydia's grip. It was easy enough, just a quick phase through and he was free. She looked a little perturbed in her sleep at the sudden lack of contact, but upon fondling the bed a bit, she was able to replace her Betelgeuse pillow with a real one; all, remarkably, without waking.

"So perceptive," Juno drawled. "You brought this on yourself, you know, always wanting things you can't have, or at the very least shouldn't have. There are some people really looking forward to your failure." She punctuated this by jabbing her cigarette.

"You one of them?" he asked with a guarded tone.

Her lips pulled into a tight frown. "I'm not one of those people who takes pleasure in other's plights, especially not when it involves the life of an innocent child."

Betelgeuse snorted and had a half a mind to point out that Lydia was most decidedly not a child.

"And don't even get me started on how much paper work will be involved if they _do_ have to exorcize you; your file is a_ mess_." She took a quick glance at her watch, and then returned her gaze to the other ghost, calculating. "Look, just keep her out of harm's way for now. We are doing everything we can to get this crisis under control. Just… try not to do anything stupid should you somehow cross Vladimir's path. Like I said, we are working on the problem and when we find a suitable solution or loophole, we'll let you know… or actually, we'll follow the best course of action to solve the problem, regardless of whether or not we tell you. Oh, and one more quick thing," she stepped towards him, somehow managing to loom over him in an intimidating fashion, despite her being several inches shorter. "You so much as _look_ at her the wrong way and so help me, I'll make Saturn look like a tropical paradise."

Betelgeuse got the message and nodded dumbly, shocked and a little ashamed for being so easily cowed.

She stepped back, and nodded derisively. "Good. And don't worry about explaining the situation to her. I'll take care of it tomorrow, after she's had a chance to rest up." Taking one more drag from the cigarette, Juno was gone before she could exhale.

Betelgeuse blinked. What in all holy hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

**::AN:: **Looks like I've added another four-hundred words to this edit... so not as drastic as the last one. Still - it's a nice chunk of change. That, and its already quite the information dump. Don't want to make you process too much information in one go. Most of the changes were stylistic in nature, meant to improve the flow and all that, plus a little added (and cleaner) detail. No real game-changers.

TTFN,

-ER-


	4. Informative

**::AN::** Tra-la-la-la-la.** (Edited 9/16/2011)**

**Title: **The Name Game

**Chapter Four:** Informative

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Lydia woke to the distinct and unpleasant scent of cigaret smoke and a pounding migraine. At best, it felt as though she spent the previous night on a drinking binge, during which she was run over by a tractor... at worst, like she'd been beaten and nearly raped and murdered in an alley (go figure). Plus, she was left with traces of odd and disturbing dreams, many involving Betelgeuse and his lap. And though Betelgeuse's lap was by no means the worst of her subconscious experiences, it was still easily the most embarrassing. She groggily rubbed her eyes, both in attempt to sooth her head and buff out certain images from her mind.

The acrid smoke certainly didn't help her throbbing temples, or her mood. She sat up and snapped her head towards its area of origin -pausing to cringe a moment, as the sharp movement zinged a shot of pain through her cranium. Betelgeuse was, of course, the culprit. He looked weary and bored, sitting at her desk, idly drumming his fingers and staring into space.

"You living people sure sleep a long time," he muttered around the stick in his mouth, once he noticed she was awake.

Lydia noted the dullness of his eyes and his slouch, more pronounced than usual. It looked as though he had a rough night too. Still, the smoking? So not going to fly. "Get rid of that thing!" she snapped. "Second hand smoke kills, you know! And for us 'living people' that still matters!"

"Eh?" Betelgeuse looked as though he was surprised to notice the unfiltered cigaret between his lips. "Oh. Right." And with a snap the cigaret, smoke, and smell all just seemed to vanish. It was a definite improvement, all except that Betelgeuse somehow looked more dejected than before.

His whole attitude bothered Lydia immensely. On the one hand, she felt concerned for him -which was not okay. Saving her from some thugs did NOT make up for the near forced-marriage or his near-fatal attack on her father. Watching him and seeing how serious he was also made her pretty sure something had happened while she'd been unconscious. It wasn't too surprising if she'd missed it, especially given the fact that she could sleep through a nuclear attack siren if she were tired enough. The worst of it was that it must have been something bad. Betelgeuse didn't strike her as the kind to mope and dwell on things. Of course, whom it was bad for was anyone's guess (maybe she would be in the clear?). Who knew what went on inside Betelgeuse's mind? Lydia certainly didn't claim to.

She also couldn't help but wonder if her fuzzy memories of his lap were the product of a dream or not. But she fought that down. On the off chance it was real, she really, really did not want to think about it. Denial was a much better option than admitting she had willingly wrapped herself around him -half asleep or not. She shook her head to dislodge the unpleasant thoughts. "How long was I out for?" Her voice croaked and she cringed at the sound.

Betelgeuse vaguely gestured to the window. "It's almost dark again. You missed the day."

"Hmm." Normally, Lydia avoided sleeping in too late. While she definitely appreciated the subtle qualities of the night, it always made her feel incredibly unproductive if she didn't have at least a few daylight hours. But there were worse things, she knew, than missing one day. Her eyes drifted tentatively to her front door. "Did I get any unwelcomed visitors last night?" Antsy at the very thought of such things, Lydia climbed out of bed. It required more concentration than usual because of her collection of injuries, but focusing on that task kept her from fidgeting as she waited for his reply.

"Well, yeah," he admitted after a long pause. "Not who you were expecting though." He sighed again and ran a hand down his face.

The morose behavior and cryptic answer started to get on Lydia's nerves. "So," she prompted with a roll of the hand. By this point she'd made the harrowing trip (the incredibly short, harrowing trip) to her kitchenette. She leaned on the breakfast bar to hold herself up; god her legs were stiff!

"So _what_?" Betelgeuse grumbled. He still looked quite thoroughly depressed, to the point of distraction.

Lydia felt like slapping him. What right did he have to be depressed, really? …Aside from maybe the 'being dead' thing, but she always supposed he _enjoyed_ his afterlife. So really, he had no excuse. "Are you going to tell me what happened willingly, or will I have to beat it out of you?" She smacked her breakfast bar in frustration. Extracting information from him was on par with extracting protons from an atom, that is to say, nothing she had the patience for. She gave him a withering, impatient look.

Looking thoroughly disgruntled and worn out, he finally solved the mystery for her. "Juno."

That was unexpected. Though upon reconsideration, she supposed it shouldn't have been. With Betelgeuse out and about in the world, it was only a matter of time before the bureaucracy that was the Netherworld sought him out. "So Juno came here?"

He nodded reluctantly.

"And you're still here?"

Another nod on his part.

"So, what exactly did she say? Why'd she come if not to put you back?"

"You'll find out," he said ominously. "She's coming by again to talk to you." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I hate to break it to you, Babes, but things are about to get a little messy around here."

Lydia arched an eyebrow. "Things that involve you generally do, Betel-" A hand clamped over her mouth and Lydia's eyes widened. Her back was pulled flush against Betelgeuse's cold chest. He certainly could move fast when properly motivated.

"Careful Babes," he intoned darkly in her ear.

Lydia noted with some discomfort that even though she was very much silenced, he did not move his hand or let her go.

"You haven't said the B-word yet, but I'd just rather be safe than sorry."

His breath felt cool as it hit her neck. She shivered and wished that her pajamas weren't so threadbare and thin… and that she'd actually worn something underneath them.

"What have we here?"

A gravelly, yet feminine interrupted the moment. It belonged of course, to Juno, who now stood in the middle of the room and cast an accusing eye at the poltergeist.

Betelgeuse sprang away from Lydia and flashed a huge, innocent smile at caseworker. This smile looked somewhat disturbing on him, and more forced than Lydia thought it should have been. Not that she was an expert or anything, but Betelgeuse didn't seem to be the type to shy away from causing mayhem and discomfort. She also figured there could be little more discomforting to Juno than she and the poltergeist caught in a semblance of an embrace (on second thought, she rationalized that there were plenty more things she and Betelgeuse could do that would make her more uncomfortable… that would of course, never-ever in a million years ever happen,_ ever_). Lydia glanced between the two, wondering what exactly had transpired while she was asleep to prompt all this.

"Perfect timing as usual, Juno," Betelgeuse remarked, his smile looking increasingly fake.

"I pride myself on it," she retorted dryly before turning to Lydia. "Please," she said, "Get yourself something to drink and find a comfortable place to sit. You and I are going to have a long chat."

Lydia nodded, realizing that Betelgeuse's antics had distracted her from the drum line banging around in her head. She got herself a glass of tap water and three aspirins, then sat down at the foot of her bed. She observed Betelgeuse from the corner of her eyes and pulled a throw blanket around her shoulders. She could still feel everywhere his hands and his breath and his chest had touched her. But Betelgeuse gave nothing away as to what she should expect from Juno. He stood quite unassumingly rubbing the back of his head and staring curiously at the ceiling. Lydia knew it was all an act though, she'd stared at that ceiling enough times to know how painfully dull it was.

Juno approached her, arms crossed across her chest and a stern expression on her face. "Ms. Deetz," she said, "you have placed yourself in quite the predicament. You were supposed to die last night."

Lydia audibly gulped.

Juno sighed and gave her a sympathetic look. "Anyway, my dear, it was a lucky break for you, depending upon how you look at it, that you called that bonehead to your aid." She jerked her head towards the comically nonchalant Betelgeuse. "But it only seems fair to warn you that you've got quite a powerful enemy on your hands. Mr. Van Durman is not your average corrupt politician, I'm afraid. In actuality, you are dealing with a very malevolent ghost…" From here, Juno re-launched into the same story that she'd imparted to Betelgeuse of the night before.

By it's end, Lydia was, very reasonably, distressed. "So, basically your saying that last night, it was either _die_ or be hunted by an living evil spirit until one or both of us is killed? That doesn't sound very fair!"

Juno rolled her eyes. "You've grown up, Ms. Deetz. Surely you've realized by now that things are hardly ever fair. You've just got to look at the positive side of the matter, being of course that you are both _still alive_, and now have the opportunity to assist in the apprehension of a very terrible creature. Isn't this what you wanted from the start?"

"All I wanted to do was get a corrupt politician out of office by catching him at in the act breaking the law and then write a startlingly intelligent exposé that would launch my career!" Lydia cried, a little hysterical at this point. "What you are suggesting... that's not what I signed up for!"

"Ms. Deetz, let me reiterate: you are alive and that is the important thing. That is what you should be focusing on!" Juno snapped. "And you never know; when this whole thing blows over, you might still be able to pull off that article. At least you still have the chance! Anyway, Betelgeuse here is your sworn protector until the end of it and you can bet he's not going to back out of it, not when his own neck is on the line."

Lydia immediately turned to Betelgeuse, who seemed to be doing everything in his power to pretend like he hadn't a clue what was going on, let alone that they'd been talking about him. He studied the cracked plaster in the corner opposite Lydia with ferocious focus. His _neck_ was on the line? What did that even mean in the context of a dead man? Lydia looked back to Juno incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"Quite simple really," the caseworker shrugged. "BJ has over stepped his boundaries a few times too many. That's why he has all that hoopla about his name, you know." She clicked her tongue at the thought of it and shook her head in exasperation. "Anyway," she continued, "the Bosses have decided that since he's_ so_ interested in making bargains all the time, that they should up the anti. Thus, a new parameter was placed on his laundry list of restrictions. If he fails to uphold his end of a bargain, he gets exorcised." She paused to let that sink in. "See? Simple; like I said."

"But…" Lydia stammered frantically. "But that's not fair! He was just supposed to take me home! T-that's nothing to get exorcized over! I-I'm fine! In fact, why don't we just-"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Juno halted her rant and held up a hand. "Did you forget that he _promised_ to protect you from those goons, from the man who attempted your murder? As long as they pose a threat to you, Ms. Deetz, he's bound by contract and fear of utter annihilation to ensure that not a hair on your head is harmed. If you die by any direct cause from Vladimir's, he dies too -in a manner of speaking. Of course, that said, one loophole is death by another cause, either your own hand, failing health or accident. But before you consider these other options, do be advised that I will personally see to it that your afterlife is a veritable hell should you force your own hand in things."

The blood drained from Lydia's already rather pale face. She glanced back to her poltergeist protector and managed to catch him off guard for a second as he was looking at her too. But within the same second, he was back to staring at the crack in the wall.

"Luckily," Lydia replied thickly around the lump in her throat, dragging her gaze back to Juno, "I don't have any plans at the moment to take my own life. But... but is this all really necessary? I mean, there's got to be another loophole, right? I… I don't even know what my end of our bargain is yet! Wouldn't that mean that it's incomplete? Null and void? Maybe he isn't really bound to anything yet!"

"This matter is completely out of my hands. It doesn't matter that the terms weren't well defined on your end," she explained. "As long as BJ has his part, and as long as there was a consensual agreement, his fate is sealed. You both are in this together until we arrive at a solution, or... less favorably, until Vladimir Drake fulfills his intentions."

Lydia groaned. Suddenly Betelgeuse's depression didn't seem so aggravating. She turned to him yet again, but this time he gave her a rueful smirk. Somehow the attitude behind it made her feel a little better; he was still the 'ghost with the most'. If he could put a stop to his dismal behavior, then so could she. "So," she said. "Looks like we're stuck together then."

"Looks like," he replied with a shrug.

"If you don't mind me suggesting," Juno said forcibly drawing attention back to herself. "It would be in both of your best interest to go into hiding. Preferably somewhere he wouldn't think to look for you."

Lydia snorted. "Well that's easy, back home with my father and Delia."

Juno gave her a long look. "Do you really want to involve your father and step mother in on all this? Even the Maitlands might be in danger from this creature."

She crossed her arms and Lydia suddenly noticed a soldering cigarette in her right hand that hadn't been there before. Juno immediately took a long drag, as though everything was wearing her patience to its limit.

"Oh," she replied bashfully. "In that case, never mind."

"Well J-Bird, where do _you_ think we should go, eh?" Betelgeuse arched a blond eyebrow at her and mimicked her crossed arms and accusatory posture. "You're the one with all the answers, after all."

"Excellent question, oh idiotic one," she quipped, and with a flourish of her hand she began, "The countryside's not be a bad idea, although obviously somewhere far from the Deetzes. And I would also recommend, Miss Deetz, that you have no contact with your family, or the Maitlands from this moment forth, understood?"

Lydia nodded somberly. "No problem on my end."

"Good, excellent," the old dead woman crooned impatiently. "And while I'm sensing a simply heart wrenching back-story to that snippy reply, I think it would be best if I left now to do a bit of research. I'll be on the lookout for a safe house for you, and I'll contact you immediately should something turn up. For time being, Betel, keep Lydia safe at all costs… though I'm sure I didn't need to remind you of that." She chuckled sardonically and muttered, "You two better be worth all this extra paperwork."

Juno took a deep drag from her cigaret, and then seemed to dissolve away in the exhaled smoke. The murky cloud lingered long after she left.

* * *

**::AN::** As is the going trend, my edits = much better fic. We're pushing a roughly 400+ word increase here. Not monumental, but this is another info-dump chapter and I deleted a LOT of the original dribble. I am looking forward to tackling the next chapter though - if I recall correctly, the "info-dump" segment is replaced with a buttload of tension, of the sexual persuasion. (This is, again, related to the 9/16/2011 edit.)

More love, further affections,

-ER-


	5. Injunction

**::AN:: **Oh joy, more Betel-speak to fix. Party rockers in the house_ tonight_.

**WARNING: ALL-NEW MATERIAL AHEAD! **

**The old chapter five was deemed unsalvageable and was therefore subjected to a complete overhaul. Also note: all previous plot points (and then some) have been met. **

**Edited: 09/19/2011**

* * *

**Title:** The Name Game**  
**

**Chapter Five:** Injunction

* * *

Lydia stared blankly at the cloud of smoke Juno had left in her wake. And then she promptly collapsed onto her side and curled up into a ball. What she really wanted at that moment, more than almost anything, was a hug. Of course, marginally outstripping this desire was her pride, because there was no way she was going to admit it to present company. Speaking of which, she was a bit curious to know how he was handling everything. She rolled over on to her left side and looked at him.

Betelgeuse, who was levitating a few feet off the ground, glowered down at her, a stern frown, which looked out of place on his maniac face, firmly etched on his lips.

It was rather startling. Lydia sat up, unfurling her legs, and leaned on her arm. "_What_?"

"You," he snapped. "You're acting like it's the end of the fucking world. Well, news flash girly! You're still alive, ain't you? Have a little damn perspective!"

"Yeah," she cried back, rising to her feet on the bed so she could stand a chance to look him in the eye. "And for how much longer, do you think? For all I know, I've got a merry troop of homicidal maniacs bounding up to my apartment as we speak!"

"If you're looking for sympathy from me," Betelgeuse sneered, "you're about six centuries too late!" He bounded a fist against his chest, "I'm already dead, in case it's escaped your notice, and I have a hard time feeling bad for someone who's probably got another sixty or seventy years to go!"

Lydia quieted some at that. "You... are you really so sure that we're going to get through this?"

Whatever righteous anger had been flowing through him before seemed to deflate. "I don't plan on being exorcised anytime soon, kid. That's all I've got to say."

Lydia plopped back down on the bed, this time sitting cross-legged. She sighed and peered up at Betelgeuse. "It's not so much... _dying_ that I'm afraid of," she admitted. "It's knowing that he's going to-" she gulped. "He's a sadistic bastard, all right? He's the type who's going to make me beg to die before he'll let me."

"You don't have to tell me," Betel replied. "I was there the first time he showed up." He drifted down and took a seat next to Lydia.

"And I've dragged you into this. To think, if I'd have just let them go through with it-"

"Hey, now!" He cut her off. "That's no way to..." He paused, as if taken aback by his reaction. "...Look, if you'd have done that, the Netherworld would still have to deal with him."

"But you wouldn't."

"Who gives a flying fuck about me?" He exclaimed, grasping a handful of his shirt. "I've been around this joint for six centuries. Most losers barely stick around for half that." He sniffed and calmly smoothed out his shirt. "And besides, I'm still part of the Netherworld, and that guy's got it out for everybody. He'd be my problem no matter what."

Lydia refused to be comforted. She still felt wholly and undeniably responsible. She groaned into her hands. "Maybe I should just jump off the building or something. At least then I won't feel guilty anymore, and your exorcism won't be on my hands."

"You_ trying_ to make me angry?" Betelgeuse growled. "Because you're doing a bang-up job! What is it with you, always moaning about life? First time I even met you, you were obsessed with death! I'm surprised you've lasted this long if your life is so damn horrible!"

"I was sixteen!" Lydia sprang from the bed, away from the poltergeist. "Was I a little over dramatic? _Sure_! Am I glad that I didn't end up jumping off the Winter River bridge? Of _course_! I don't_ want_ to die, B, but the last thing I want is to be a thorn in everyone's side! I'm not worth all this trouble!"

"You, you, you!" He snapped. He rose from the bed and stalked towards her, backing her up against the wall. "You think that this is all about you, do you? Well, newsflash darling, it's not! It's so much bigger than that! It's bigger than you, and me, and the bumpkins in your attic, and your mommy and daddy issues combined! All you are is a chess piece! One more thing we can use to chip away at that bastard's defenses."

Lydia tried to pull away, but Betelgeuse grasped her wrist and held her firmly in place.

"And I'll be damned if I let him touch so much as a hair on your dark little head, got it?"

She sighed. "That's the problem. You will be."

He released her and stepped back. "There might be something we can do about it. We never did finish the terms of our deal."

"What?" She perked up. "But I thought that Juno said there was no way for you to get out of it!"

"There isn't," he shrugged. "No way _out_, per-se. But there is a way_ around_ it."

Lydia crossed her arms. "I'm listening."

He grinned. "Help me find my name, Babes."

Lydia cocked her head to the side, her face scrunched in confusion. "Uh, correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we already covered this, B. A game of charades was involved, if memory serves."

"No, no, no! The B-word ain't my real name! How_ cruel_ do you think my parents were? They took it from me," he explained, "right after they sealed up that Drake guy. Thought if they didn't curb my powers with an injunction, that I'd be the next one to go ape-shit on the world. Gave me the B-name. 'Course, later they figured_ that_ wasn't enough, so they put even more restrictions on me - you know, how I can't say it, that stupid 'three times' rule, all that crap. But oh, if I had my real name again..."

"What then? You're like... Rumpelstiltskin?" she surmised, unable to hide her smirk.

"Right. Because _that_ makes sense." Betelgeuse was unamused. "Trust me, Babes. I want nothing to do with your first born, morbid little fucker it'd be." He shuddered dramatically. "Names don't mean shit when you're alive, I know that -people seem to change them out weekly. But once your dead, a name's all you've got. When they take it from you, it's like... they take_ everything_. But if I got it back, Lyds, oh if I could just _get it back._"

"So," she fidgeted, intimidated by the passion in Betelgeuse's voice, "what can I do, exactly?"

"Help me find it, Babes. Help me find it and the deal is done."

* * *

It was a fine idea, helping him find his name. Only Lydia wasn't sure that she wanted to be the one responsible for setting him loose... especially if he was fast on his way to becoming another Vladimir Drake (still, she couldn't help but give him the benefit of the doubt on that count- sure, Betelgeuse was a little manic maybe, and not exactly a nice guy, but he wasn't _evil_). That decision had been taken out of her hands the moment she'd summoned him though. There was no turning back now. ...And, hell, she didn't even have the first clue as to how to go about finding this name of his anyway. Chances were, they might never find it and there wouldn't be anything to worry about... Well, except for the all-powerful, homicidal spirit out for her blood.

But that moment, she had far more pressing matters to deal with.

"Oh my god, I'm _starving_!"

Having slept for nearly a day, and having been too nervous to eat much before her failure of a rendezvous with Van Durman, Lydia was absolutely famished. It hadn't really hit her until after things had calmed down somewhat and her frazzled nerves had subsided. In fact, the plan was to take another shower and change the dressings of her assorted injuries. But as soon as she'd gone into the bathroom, she stormed back out again and began to ransack the kitchen, in search of something edible. She came up with a box of stale clubhouse crackers and a carton of old Chinese food whose freshness was too questionable to tempt. She nearly cried in frustration, but tore into the crackers nonetheless.

Betelgeuse peeked into various compartments of her kitchen. One drawer was filled entirely with little condiment packets, most of them soy sauce. She had soy milk in the fridge, but it was a week past-due. And she had maybe three pots, none of which looked like they got much use due to the dust and spider webs. "You're a regular Betty Crocker, aren't you?"

"I'm busy," Lydia snapped, her mouth full of stale cracker. She chased it with a sip of tap water. "I don't have time to do much cooking around here."

"Tch, apparently." He grinned. "It's a good thing you know how to use the phone, otherwise I think you'd starve to death."

"I'm touched by how much you care," Lydia sneered. The effect, however, was inhibited somewhat by her chipmunk cheeks full, once again, of crackers. She swallowed the dry, tasteless mass thickly. "Gah," she whined. "I want real food!"

Betelgeuse cackled. "Well, here's your pan," he held up her phone in one hand, "and here are your ingredients," and he held up her phone book in the other.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Thanks, B. But I can't exactly have a delivery boy coming around here. Don't you think that would be a dead give-away if anyone was watching the apartment?" She took the phone from him and paused. She held it up to her ear, then placed the phone back into receiver. "B..." she said, her voice deadly calm. "Is there a reason why my phone has no ringtone?"

"Oh, right," he said, scratching behind his ear. He was vaguely aware that he might have done something wrong. "It kept ringing while you were sleeping, and it got damn annoying... so I pulled the cord out of the wall." He held up the disconnected phone jack. "Hey, at least there was no chance of it waking you up!"

She growled and grabbed it out of his hand. "Did it ever occur to you that I might get an important call? Did it cross your mind -at all- that it would be a bad idea to just disconnect the line? Argh! I can't believe you!" With that, she plugged the cord back into the wall. The second she did so, the phone began to ring.

They both stared at it dumbly.

"You planning on answering that?" Betelgeuse asked after the third ring.

Lydia, whose eyes stayed trained on the phone, replied, "I'm going to let it go to the answering machine... just in case."

"And this coming from little miss '_my phone calls are important'_," he grumbled.

"Hush," she snapped.

Finally, the answering machine beeped.

"_Lydia_," a girl's voice cried from the machine, "_Oh god, Lydia! If you're there, please pick up! I've been trying to reach you all day_!"

"All day?" Betelgeuse snarked. "Now there's a glutton for punishment."

"Shut. Up." Lydia ordered. She eyed him warily and pulled the phone out of the cradle, not breaking eye contact with the rogue ghost. "Beth?"

"_Oh thank god!_" Beth replied. _"I thought you were dead! Do you know who sold you out_?"

"He mentioned..." She cast her eyes to the ground. "He mentioned Andre."

"_That- that royal _asshole_! And here he's been pretending to be_ so_ concerned, he's all, 'poor Lydia' this, and 'poor Lydia' that! Do you know how long he's been in Van Durman's pocket_?"

"I don't have a clue and for all I know, he might have been lying," she said hopelessly. "But Beth, get out of there! I don't think any of you are safe. You need to get out of there,_ now_." She took a deep steadying breath. "He's messed up, Beth. He was going to have me _killed_."

"_Holy shit! How did you get away_?"

She glanced over at Betelgeuse, and her eyes softened. "I got lucky. Someone out there must be watching over me."

Betelgeuse looked away sharply, and Lydia was almost positive that if he had working arteries, he would have been blushing.

"_What, you telling me you've got a guardian angel_?"

Lydia snorted, then smiled wryly at ghost in question. "Something like that."

"_If this angel is an eligible male, you'd tell me, right_?"

Lydia blanched (Betelgeuse chuckled). "Are you serious right now? I almost died and you're trying to set me up with a mythical creature?"

"_Well, now that you and Andre are on the outs, you might as well keep your options open_... _You'd also let me know if he had an equally eligible brother, right_?"

"Beth, I love you, really I do, but I've got to go. Just promise me you'll get out of there?"

"_Gone, babe_." Beth paused. "_Just keep safe, alright? I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to talk to you again for a long time_."

"I'll try my best," she said earnestly. "Hopefully my 'angel' isn't a one-trick pony."

* * *

Lydia, her hunger as sated as could be with nothing but stale crackers, made a successful second attempt at a shower. Meanwhile, Betelgeuse tried not to be offended (though god only knows why he bothered) about the 'one-trick pony' comment. She, he supposed, didn't have a good track record with his reliability (of course, he'd always tried to up-hold his end of that deal, but some people were just so touchy when it came to the bodily harm of loved ones). It was only natural she had _some_ reservations; she'd be an idiot otherwise (and while idiots were usually his favorite customers, he couldn't exactly warm to the idea of her being one). But still. He'd thought they'd had an understanding. Both of their... _existences_ as they knew them were on the line; their fates were hopelessly entangled. Anything happens to her, and he's toast. And vice-versa, really, because she'd lose her one and only shred of protection.

Sure, if he found his name, he'd be able to juice all his problems away (hers too, not that it was a priority).

But finding a name only sounds easy.

...The process could take years.

And while, on the one hand, that meant he was free to be out for the duration, that also meant there was more time in which the All Powerful Bastard (Drake) would be more all powerful than him. And that didn't sit too well.

He looked at the bathroom door. He'd heard her push in the lock in the handle before the shower turned on. She had to realize there was no stopping him, if he really wanted to go in. Under normal circumstances, he would have probably spent his little pensive session sitting on the bathroom counter, rather than idly floating in the air above her bed. Betelgeuse didn't like the connotations of his own behavior. Why should she get special treatment? Why should he be so compelled to stay where he was and let her shower in peace, _alone_?

Obviously, the problem was that living people (like Lydia) took too much time out of their day sleeping and bathing, thus leaving the poltergeist too much time to mull over his increasingly disconcerting thoughts. It was definitely all her fault.

After what seemed like ten eternities passed in the waiting room at Juno's office, Lydia finally emerged from the bathroom. She had her damp hair up in another banana clip, and wore black skinny jeans, and a thick, dark gray sweater. Then she had the audacity to smile at Betelgeuse before she went to her dresser and pulled on a pair of thick, dark gray socks.

Betelgeuse took in her wardrobe choice. "You planning on going somewhere, Babes?"

She rolled her eyes, "Not at the moment. There's no chance of me falling asleep now, so why dress for it?" She tugged at her sweater, then, almost as an afterthought she added, "_Thanks for respecting my privacy in there, B_." And Lydia had not a care in the world as to how cutting that flippant remark was.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he grumbled. "Don't get used to it."

And then Lydia laughed, actually_ laughed_ -like he wasn't being serious or something.

There was a pounding on the door. Betelgeuse and Lydia's eyes met, the latter's looked wide and frightened, like a doe frozen in oncoming headlights.

"Come on out, _Deetz_!" An angry muffled voice demanded. "We_ know_ you're in there, and there's _nowhere_ for you to run."

* * *

**::AN::** This chapter was a beast. Mother of god, I wanted to rip out this thing's jugular. With my teeth.

Oh, and look. I ended it on a cliff-hanger. _For four years_. Oops, my bad.

_E'rry day I'm sh-shufflin'._

_ -ER-_


End file.
